CHAPTER 1 : JUAN'S ORIGIN
Seven years had passed since Juan Reyez left the orphanage. He lived in a small, dilapidated house on the outskirts of the province—a dimly lit, dust-filled place he shared with a few stray mice. He had never gone to school, nor did he have anyone to teach him how to navigate life properly.
His only escape was an old, rusted playground near his house. The swings were squeaky and the metal was corroded, but he spent nearly every afternoon there, letting his mind wander.
"I'll probably just play here again tomorrow," Juan muttered to himself as he walked back home, staring blankly at the evening sky.
Because his mind was completely in the clouds, he didn't notice the figure standing directly in his path.
THUD.
Juan nearly stumbled backward as he bumped into a tall man standing motionless before him. When Juan looked up, a cold shiver ran down his spine. Looking down at him was a imposing figure with piercing red eyes glowing faintly in the dim light.
"S-sorry, sir... I-I was just daydreaming while walking..." Juan stammered, his knees trembling.
The tall man didn't blink. "Be mindful next time, kid," he said in a cold, measured voice before walking past him.
Juan let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding once the man disappeared into the distance. Entering his house, he slouched against the front door.
"Playing all day takes more out of me than working overtime at the bakery on holidays," he sighed. He shook his head and straightened up. "Time to get moving. Got to earn tonight's dinner."
When night fell, Juan wasn't just an orphan boy—he was a thief. For four years, he had been sneaking back into the very bakery where he worked to steal bread. Surviving on the streets for so long had honed his instincts, turning him into a sharp, tactical thinker when cornered.
He slipped through the back door of the bakery, moving like a shadow. Every step was deliberate and silent. But just as he reached for a tray of fresh bread, heavy footsteps echoed from the adjacent hallway.
His heart spiked, but he didn't panic. In a fraction of a second, his eyes scanned the room—calculating the shadows, the direction of the draft, and the blind spots of the doorway. Without a sound, he dropped low and slid under a heavy wooden table, tucking himself behind a stack of empty flour sacks.
He pressed his back flat against the wall, slowing his breathing to absolute silence.
Through a small gap between the sacks, he saw two massive legs enter the room. The figure paused, shifting direction as if searching the darkness, before finally turning around and pacing away.
Only when the sound of footsteps completely died down did Juan let out a quiet sigh of relief, a faint, sly smirk tugging at his lips.
"Phew... I really thought I was a goner that time."
